


Splinter Twin

by Mertiya



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Especially when drunk, Jace makes terrible decisions, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unrequited Love, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jace is drunk out of his mind and propositions Kallist.  Kallist should probably say no, but he's not going to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splinter Twin

**Author's Note:**

> We don't have a solid timeline for Agents of Artifice, and when I wrote this, I was assuming that Jace and Kallist were both at least 18. If it turns out that I am wrong, and that they would actually have to have been underage, I'm going to call this a mild AU. But just be aware that's why this isn't tagged underage.

          The ground was heaving under Jace’s feet, which probably meant he was drunk. Again.  Groaning, he leaned against the door of his bedroom. Why was he drunk? No, scratch that, bad question. He didn’t want to know. He stared down at the flask in his fingers, but he couldn’t feel it, and, after a minute, he saw his fingers open and drop it to the ground.  The top spun across the floor with a metallic tinkle, and the liquid inside spilled out.

            “Jace? Is that you?”  Ah, fuck.  This wasn’t his bedroom at all, was it?  Dizzily, Jace found himself face to face with a mirror version of himself, but not a mirror, was he? 

            “G’morning, Kallist,” he said.  He tried to take a step forward, but his legs were wobbly, and he ended up falling forward.

            “Krokt, Jace, you are dead drunk.”

            “Nah, just a little tipsy.” 

            Kallist’s eyebrows went up, and his hand slipped down to support Jace’s waist. “A little tipsy,” he said dryly. “Of course.  Something happen today?”

            “Don’t know,” Jace said cheerfully.  “Best part of being drunk.  Everything’s happy.”

            Kallist put a hand to his forehead.  “You should get to bed,” he sighed.

            “I’m not tired,” Jace responded.

            “You can’t even stand up straight,” his friend objected.

            “Yeah I can.”  He put both hands on Kallist’s shoulders and shoved, with the result that he ended up standing nose to nose with his mirror image.  Kallist’s breath was suddenly hot on his mouth. Kallist made a soft noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head forward, and Jace stared in confusion at him for a moment, and then leaned forward as well.

            Their lips met in a way that sent another shock of dizziness through Jace’s spine.  The muscles beneath Jace’s hands tightened, and he felt Kallist starting to pull away. Which was probably a good idea, right?  Because he was pretty sure he was in over his head, and not at all certain he knew what was going on.

            But he liked the feeling of Kallist’s lips on his.  Besides, the memories of the day were niggling at the back of his head, begging to be woken, waiting to tear into him and eat him inside-out, and he’d just spilled the rest of his alcohol all over the floor.  He held on and leaned into the kiss, and suddenly Kallist’s hands were on his waist, on his back, dragging him into the room as suddenly as Kallist had tried to push him away a moment before.  The door shut behind them with a loud noise.

            “Goddammit, Jace,” Kallist said hoarsely in his ear, and then they were on the bed, Jace on his back beneath Kallist, and Kallist’s lips on his throat. A moment later and Kallist’s hands were already undoing his shirt, sliding down the front of his trousers. Jace moaned and bucked against the sensation, and one of Kallist’s hands was on his cock. Fuck.  He hadn’t even realized he was hard.

            Kallist’s other hand curled around his back and down, sliding between his legs half-hesitantly, and Jace realized he’d just been lying there, soaking up the sensations, which might be giving the wrong message.  Clumsily, he leaned forward and kissed Kallist again. “C’mon,” he mumbled, because he wanted—he _needed_ —he couldn’t think, didn’t want to think.  Instead, he reached out with his spinning thoughts, careening into Kallist’s brain at high velocity.  The image of himself, naked against the wall, could just as easily be an image of Kallist—the hair maybe a little messier, a little longer.  That weird mirror image sensation again.  “Please do,” he said to Kallist, and when Kallist paused and stared at him, he realized he hadn’t explained himself. “Your thoughts,” he slurred, the words hard to articulate through the heaviness of his lips.

            “Goddammit, Jace,” Kallist said again.  “Stay out of my head, I’ve told you.”

            “Will you please fuck me?” Jace blurted.  “Seriously, please.  Will you just—” _make it stop, make everything stop, make the world stop, make my head stop?  Just for now, just for a little while?_

            “You’re drunk,” Kallist said, and Jace couldn’t read his tone of voice, so instead of trying, he reached for Kallist’s dick, sliding his hand clumsily across it, hearing the sharp, desperate intake of breath from his friend. Kallist’s hand came down on top of his own.  “Okay,” Kallist said breathlessly.  “Okay, okay, okay.  Yes. Fine.  You win. You goddamn mind mage.” 

            Jace started to smirk, but the smirk fell off his face as Kallist reached down, yanked his trousers off, and took Jace’s erection in his mouth. Jace keened, bucking upward into the warm slickness, and then it was gone, and he was thrusting desperately into the air. 

            “Get on your knees,” Kallist told him.  “Can you hold yourself up?”

            “Think so,” Jace said, rolling over onto his front.  He was dizzy, but he managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees.  “Yeah.” There was a pillow in front of his face, which looked inviting.  He heard Kallist rummaging through a drawer beside the bed and then Kallist’s hands were on his back, sliding down, and one cold, slick finger was inside him.  Jace yelped in surprise at the intrusion, and Kallist paused for a moment, but when Jace made no other sound of protest, began to move the finger, a little slowly and questioningly. Jace found himself shuddering and whimpering as the finger brushed something inside him. “Oh god yes,” he moaned. “Kuh-keep doing that.”

            Another finger.  The heat building in his groin.  Kallist’s smell all around him, his hands unsteady on the rumpled sheets of Kallist’s bed. “How’s that?” Kallist asked, and Jace still couldn’t read his tone.  He tried to reach for Kallist’s mind, but his focus was too far gone, too drifted and shattered, for him to be able to do it anymore. 

            “Good—gnnnngh—gods, really, really—” he was whimpering again, his voice high and desperate. The fingers withdrew. “Please, Kallist, are you going to—”

            He wasn’t ready.  It hurt, drove Jace’s head forward into the pillow, which muffled the sudden cry of pain that escaped from his lips, that he had to hope Kallist hadn’t heard, because he didn’t want him to stop.  Even though it hurt, even though every thrust shook his body with pain mixed with jolts of pleasure, he didn’t want Kallist to stop.  If only he could make everything else stop, everything but the motion of Kallist’s thighs against his own, everything but the pain-pleasure thrusts and the welcoming suffocation of the pillow in front of his face.

            He didn’t want anything else.

~

            Kallist had heard Jace’s half-sob, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He told himself that if Jace said anything, if Jace told him to, he’d stop right away, but Jace said nothing, just leaned forward into the pillow, clenching his fists around it. Kallist leaned forward, one arm sliding across Jace’s chest, his teeth nipping at Jace’s shoulder.

            Oh, god.  Jace’s sweat. That was a hell of a trip. How had he even ended up here—balls deep in Jace fucking Beleren, who was whimpering and bucking back against him.  Just a few minutes ago, he’d been ready to have a quiet evening, and then Jace—goddammit. The mind mage never looked at him like this.  Kallist was ninety percent certain Jace didn’t think of him romantically, and he’d made his peace with that, and then Jace had to go and do something stupid like this.

            He thrust harder, and Jace howled.  Kallist buried his face in the long hair spilling over the back of Jace’s neck.  If this was all he got, by god, he’d make it count.  If this was the only piece of Jace Beleren that he ever got to touch, to hold close—why the fuck did he even care about this moron? Jace was damn incompetent. His stupid morals got them in more trouble than anyone else Kallist had ever met, and it wasn’t as if he actually stopped what he was doing in response to his morals.  No, he just went out and got drunk and came home and _fucked his best friend_. That was consistency for you.

            “K-Kallist, oh my god, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

            “Wasn’t—planning on it,” Kallist panted.  “You feel—ah, Krokt.”  Perfect, hot and slick around him.  Sweat and heat and Jace, the inside of him, the skinny curve of his back, the bumpy hills of his ribs beneath Kallist’s hand, the knobs of his back beneath Kallist’s lips. And the little moans he continued to let spill from his lips as Kallist continued to thrust. Goddammit, it wasn’t fair.

            Jace grunted hoarsely and stiffened underneath him, his head whipping back so suddenly he nearly caught Kallist under the chin as he climaxed. Goddammit.  Kallist paused as Jace collapsed into a sweaty heap underneath him, Kallist still half inside him.  Fuck.  Of course.  He sighed and poked Jace in the shoulder, but the mind mage was already snoring. How the _hell_ had he fallen asleep that fast?

            Probably the alcohol.  What an evening. Kallist pulled out slowly, shuddering with arousal at each movement and guiltily savoring the last few dregs of sensation.  Then he collapsed onto his side and stared at Jace’s back for a few minutes before giving up and jerking himself off, because there was no way he was going to get to sleep otherwise.

            If he shut his eyes, he could pretend it wasn’t his hand. He could pretend it was Jace’s hand moving softly up and down on his cock, Jace’s voice murmuring in his ear, “I love you,” chuckling at the noises that were spilling out of Kallist’s mouth.  He could—he could—

            Kallist came with a jerk and a cry, Jace’s imaginary voice ringing in his ears.

~

            It was too much.  Bad enough to remember the hazy, guilty awakening of that morning, the arm that Kallist had flung, carelessly possessive, across him.  Bad enough to remember glancing down and having a strange urge to brush Kallist’s messy hair back from his sleeping face.  But to remember _Kallist’s_ memories, to know that Kallist had—

            To know that Kallist had loved him and said nothing.  To know that Jace had never seen it, despite his habit of carelessly going through his friend’s thoughts at odd moments. And to know that it was because of him that Kallist had died, just now, probably without even knowing who he was—

            Jace, on his knees in the mud outside what had been Kallist-as-Jace’s apartment, hid his face in his hands and sobbed like a child.


End file.
